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Details | Quintella Poem | |

The Tiger In His Glory

 
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away

He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought

The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force 
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be

And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints

And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill


Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013

Details | Quintella Poem | |

The Beach

It’s nice to get away
for a few hours or a day
As soft breezes stir night air
And salty mist clings to your hair
Stirring memories of Adolescence at play.

It’s nice to have the chance 
to hear the song, to do the dance
And though we far exceed our prime
We light our path with love, stopping time
stopping space, and fuel the flame of our romance.

It’s nice in morning rain
to find that spot on  memory lane
To look at who, what, where we are from.
While waves and breeze and the noonday sun
Sooth and calm, tan, bleach and burn away our pain.

It’s nice to turn away
From the things old and gray;
And we miss those times at the shore.
But truth is, we like our life now lots  more
And we won’t trade tomorrow for all of yesterday

Feb 21 2010      Charles Henderson

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Caught in the Sun

Where dawn is born and clouds are spun
To clothe the sky in golden lace,
The sea ignites as currents chase
Soft morning light that's just begun  
To wake our love, caught in the sun. 

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Echo

Encased in earthen form, I rise,
held chest-tight with fear my eyes belie.
Tumbled stone and ancient steps so steep,
lead to a mound and valley deep
where I let loose my song to sky.

The song resounds from crag to peak
a lonely echo blue on green. 
The soulful song from quartz careens
and shames the hillside cold cheek
returning brazen, seldom meek.

For once sent forth, it must return,
its formless flight, a brief sojourn, 
A repetition not unique,  
a hollow copy which respeaks
of lovers lost and trust unearned. 




Boomerrang Contest

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Art

Wet colors blended into one
New creations beheld in awe
Artistic beauties without flaw
Eyes behold glory as the sun
Textures combined into such fun!

quintella 8 syllables each line

Details | Quintella Poem | |

I Fell in Love With a Tree Stump

I fell in love with a tree stump.
A quite curious stump was he.
No branches to thump.
No fall leaves to see.
But a very special stump was he.

There in the woods, other trees grew tall.
Swaying their limbs and leaves in the breeze.
But one special tree stump won my awe.
Once, tall and stately was he, before the freeze.
Now, short and sad hearted because of the saw.

I was weary, downhearted, and lonely.
When, I spotted that stump beside a pile of wood.
A perfect place to rest, it seemed to me.
I rushed right over as quickly as I could. 
Then, sat right there, relaxed, and feeling so good.

While trees all around made their showy stance,
I sat and enjoyed from my comfortable stump.
He had no limbs nor leaves to wind-dance.
He had no branches to thump.
He was there for me to rest myself…by chance.

Pining alone, I fell in love with that tree stump.
A quiet refuge was he.
No longer sad, life became plump.
And my soul soared higher than one can see.
For he was there when I needed him…and he needed me.

© October 28, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Sweet Valentine



I wish you love my valentine

  I wish once more that you were mine

    Gone are the days when you did care

        Gone is the love that we once shared

            For you I pine sweet Valentine...


Details | Quintella Poem | |

Anvil Dreams

The anvil wallows on his heart 
His dreams, trodden, alas depart
Pride triggers a cursory front
The fierce justification hunt
He steps to nowhere from the start

Details | Quintella Poem | |

TABLE MOUNTAIN

The mild Cape Town winter weather triggers blooming of the Heather. The Erica shines their lanterns among the Foxtail Ferns. The white clouds overhead feather. The Silver Trees create a foil against which the flora toil. The King Proteas are gearing up to supply a feast for birds to sup. The Cape Cobras in slumber coil. The Aloes have many a use and can withstand much abuse. The fiery red Cape Honeysuckle led the cultivated hedges to buckle. Mountain fires lit by the obtuse. Our proud heritage was in full bloom - a rambling pathway the only room. Scorched earth, naked and black; sustenance of the soil now sadly lack. The canon on Signal Hill booms.
Official New7Wonders Inauguration of Table Mountain in Cape Town: 2 December 2012 http://www.youtube.com/user/New7WondersOfNature Picture of the King Protea, the national flower of South Africa: http://www.nigeldennis.com/stock/pages/21.htm

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Tasting Bliss

"Tasting Bliss" a tender touch ignites romance fluttering flames create love dance gentle caresses, tasting bliss, intoxicates juice of sweet kiss as hearts entwine, hypnotic trance. *For Andrea's Catch Phrase, Dazzle Me Contest. *Dec. 22, 2012.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Gladdened Heart

The day cannot turn gray
though it may be cloudy
though the storm may be rowdy
but when I walk Your way
the day is not gray.

The night is not frightening
though the moon may not be serenading
though clouds may obstruct star gazing
but when in Your light I am gazing
the night is not frightening.

The wind does not turn me cold
though it may blow strongly
though it may shout loudly
but when it is You I behold
the wind does not turn me cold.

The music of my heart's never dead
though the violins may stop their fiddling
though the drums may stop their beating
but when I feel Your heart turned glad
my song becomes a sonnet.

By CarolineCecile

Details | Quintella Poem | |

EFFUSED ENCOUNTER

EFFUSED ENCOUNTER Neither a dream nor a trick, I beguiled-- I reach the sky enameled with golden smile. To hurdle bumps and curves, I continue to pedal this steadfast being yearn to step on a pedestal, I found at the center of a fertile square mile. Train piercing thorns didn't blind eyes to behold, a sunrise stored to each and every intricate fold. Some jasmine fragrance afloat-- satiates my smell lost hope resurrect to impregnate a lifetime tale as fragile attached hearts trying to enfold, The autumn trumpet hues a runner-up palette to your summer vibrant colors ballet, eyes wander feast on your swells of panache. My fingers drown to trace river edges bends, posh-- enthralled, above moon bowed shedding candle sprays. Open secret scents, you effused stirred plague of souls, the tempted sirens in one sang a victor goal. The listening wind hush and blows the beats swaying leaves to dance in left to right fleet. Catalyzed by the sun rising daily at morn call, I am inspired to traverse every norms' womb. By your petals slow zoom, I find myself in chorus bloom. Rooms of my mind open to hundred ocean thoughts which soon aims to recite it's symphonic notes, I... compelled to nectar strings of burst abloom. Goodness! War and peace didn't wilt our affair eversince Zion answered every whispered prayer. My experiences with you are pearls, dearest flower, consent me then to carry and share them 'til forever, as here on garden earth, I meet you as my soul pair. ©O. E. Guillermo 4:44 am; November 25, 2014

Details | Quintella Poem | |

A SOLDIER'S LETTER

When a vulture bald and 
ugly
Dares to laugh aloud and 
smugly
Know your son is gone oh 
mother!
Shave the heads of one 
another
Pay my fare with goat and 
pigeon
Let me roam our forest 
region
Lest my soul remain in exile
Where the stars and moon 
dare not smile.

These souls they force my 
hands to 
wrest 
Do they not know a mother's 
breast?
Are not some eyes dismal 
with frown
Praying for these men 
trampled 
down?
Do they despise tomorrow's 
sun?
Or find pleasure before this 
gun?

When the vulture bald and 
ugly
Dares to sing aloud and 
smugly
Know I drown in this blood 
river
Not to kill again or shiver.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Juliet

She stood there on the balcony
watching him riding off to war
her heart was full of mutiny
crushed she held onto the bar
there would be no matrimony

Juliet was full of acrimony
hating the powerful Tsar
far away the cacophony
the sound of the battle of war
drifting up to the balcony

Juliet waited for his pony
hearing distantly his sitar
his voice singing songs so corny
she ran to him down the sandbar
now there could be matrimony

written 02/13/2014
contest: Juliet

my first Quintella I hope I got the form right

Details | Quintella Poem | |

STILL LIFE WITH DUCKS

STILL  LIFE  WITH  DUCKS

Hurry off to work and rush
At the crossroads need to push
Through the waiting  green-man crush.
Traffic gap – dodge a light –
Can’t be late – my time  is tight.

Foggy breath begins  to float
As the cold assaults my throat
And shrinks  my skin inside my coat.
A slowly-moving man in front –
Sidestep him with breathless grunt.

Snapshot spotted from the bridge –
Deep black river’s icy edge
Frozen over by the hedge.
Nothing moves, not gull nor duck.
December day dawning dark.


Details | Quintella Poem | |

The Day That Music Died

Lament The day that music died, singing wept. Into the sea of melancholy voice crept. Each word spoken reeked with pain. When could we ever be whole again Under the rug good lyrics were swept. Praise Singing is really a magical thing. Everyone agrees music has a ring It sates all involved, fills to the top. Once you begin, you hesitate to stop. Your imagine yourself to be the king. Consolation There are none too old to learn, they say. Never again we give our song away. We’ll sing, we’ll sing never quiet. We will sing, until we start a riot. Music for ever and ever and a day. © Aug 11 For Dr. Ram's elegy contest

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Glimpse

Such is the road of mystery
Hard to accept these things I see
Unexpected these sights I find 
See spirits near though I am blind
A world I’ve never known to be

Leaving behind truths I’ve been shown
Watching them go broken and blown
My haunted heart scared to believe
Worlds within worlds I can’t conceive
This is knowing, in the unknown

www.insiderealhauntings.com

Details | Quintella Poem | |

INDICTMENT

Don't worry about me 
sweetheart
I'm just playing my scripted 
part
Be not unforgiving or hurt
Let me live without your 
endless blurt.

For I walk no paved way to 
Bliss
I stand out seeming much to 
miss
Yet no less a man I'm than 
some
If what I am won't overcome
The pits of hell then so it be!
To hide behind religious zeal
A license to kill, rape and 
steal
Is cowardly deceit to me
I'd best boycott your 
heaven gate
And bravely face the 
dreaded fate.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Redeeming the Leaf

In early Autumn, the leaves change dress.
As early chill in night time breeze caress
and cool to adorn with colored hue,
succinct palette, 
glazed by frost from morning dew. 

Slowly the leaves float down.
They do their dance to the ground.
To bed they gently saunter,
slowly slumber,
They are the first signs of winter.

Soon covered under a blanket of white.
Critters, deeply imbedded, out of sight,
nestled, warmly on rainbow sheets,
yawn and stretch,
and dream the dreams of winter sleep.

The leaves, once born by nature’s hand,
brown and crumble at time’s command.
Then mixed with dirt and rain,
rabbit and deer dung,
dust to dust, feeds that from whence it came.

This poem is a varient of the Quintella, with 
rhyme scheme of aabcb

© 6 Oct 2011 Charles Henderson
 

.



Details | Quintella Poem | |

Crows

They are circling my house rooftop.
From vantage point to wall they hop.
Irritating noise filling the air,
becoming just too much to bear.
But I ‘m too much of a milksop. 

Poisoning them, out of the question.
I’m for green peaceful rendition
to rid myself of this black pest,
so that I can get morning rest
from this unwelcome infestation.

Their natural habitat destroyed
when new building schemes deployed.
Trees and feeding grounds lie barren – 
Not a trace of rabbit warren.
I’m unreasonably annoyed.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Nanny 002

Apple, grape, prune juice galore.
They drink it down then ask for more.
With all due respect, they drink more and then,
It obviously comes out in the end.
And I’m the one who cleans up the floor.

© Mar 30 2010      Charles Henderson

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Swine

You said your, heart and love, was mine.
I know now, that was just a line.
Since you stole my adorations,
Along with all my possessions,
From now on, you are known as swine.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

Caught in the sun

Meet me where  winding rivers  run
A  rising sun kisses  the hills
Where misty mornings are a thrill
And humming birds stop by for fun
Sipping nectar, caught in the sun

For:  Andrea's  Catch phrase dazzler  contest

Details | Quintella Poem | |

BLACK MAGIC

You did move Cupid's 
practiced hand
By what vile means or flip of 
wand
To strike my heart a 
poisoned blow
And bid this painful ulcer 
grow.

Like bird from tree to tree I 
flit
To skip the toil within your 
pit
And maybe find a potent cure
To life of fish before a lure.

If only you would hear my 
plea
And drain this magic out of 
me
I'd grab a trident and a 
sword
And be to you a vengeful 
lord.

They say you smuggled 
something dark
By food or drink to slave 
my heart
And force me play this 
shameful part
Of dog to its own mother 
bark.

Details | Quintella Poem | |

THE CHAIR

Timber connected by dovetail to weight born
A chair was fashioned out of choice black wood
In the middle of the front room it proudly stood
Glittering pearl inlay and gold leaf to adorn
The back rest carved in symbolic stylised *acorn

Proudly I took possession of this worldly treasure
Everyone gathered round to view this acquisition
The craftsmanship admired and the precision
Clearly it was a token of my status and my measure
Trusting it would give years of infinite pleasure

In the Great Fire the chair had burned, destroyed
Often I had used it to rest my oft’ weary bones
Before this I had to content with worn thrones
Standing proudly in the room, it was mostly void
Only of value when it was usefully employed

*Mythology
The Norse legend that Thor sheltered from a thunderstorm under an oak tree has led to the belief that having an acorn on a windowsill will prevent a house from being struck by lightning, hence the popularity of window blind pulls decorated as acorns.

Poem inspired by the followin quote:
THE PEACE OF ZEN

All form is emptiness, yet it’s not, 
all emptiness is form
in essence not.